Reflections in a Minor Key
by Spense
Summary: Set during and after 'Who's in Trouble Now' and 'Ghost in the Machine'. This is Virgil's reflections on the situation. One-shot.


REFLECTIONS IN A MINOR KEY

BY SPENSE

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own, just borrowing, not making money, etc.

Thanks to Boomercat for your great suggestions.

Takes place during and immediately following 'Who's in Trouble Now?' and 'Ghost in the Machine'. Virgil's reflections on the whole situation, and the aftermath.

**DISSONANCE**

I'm doing what I always do when I need to work things out. I'm at the piano. My fingers begin to fly by themselves and I surge into whatever suits my mood. I've started with Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor. It's dark and melodramatic, much like I've felt since this whole sordid episode began. How stupid could I be? Bad enough to have even been thinking it. But to have been running my mouth off . . .

I'm working the crescendo now . . . mezzo forte. The dynamics of the piece suit my feelings right now. Loud and pounding, intricate and confusing. It was Thunderbird 2 – my lady. That was my excuse, lame as that is. I had worked on her for hours, getting more and more angry, as I slowly repaired the damage. It doesn't help that I knew Scott was no better. His reasons were the same as mine. He had been really going over Thunderbird 1 as well, with the same frustration I had.

I'm really rattling the windows now. But nobody's bothering me about it. We've all got our own worries right now. And his name is Alan. I was worrying about the damage done to an inanimate piece of machinery that could be easily fixed. And because of that, I was talking without thinking, just like I berate my little brother for doing.

And he heard it. All of it. Every last dammed word of it.

I'm sweating now with the effort of playing. I've never in my life played this dark, complex piece this well. Not ever. As I think about Alan hearing my abrasive, abusive comments, as I took my frustration about the damage caused to my 'bird out on him, I can't imagine what he must have been feeling. And unlike my 'bird, this is not going to be easily fixed.

My fingers know what he was feeling, though. Suddenly I'm playing 'Memories' from Cats. This haunting piece can always move me to remember the most cataclysmic and tragic moments of my life. But the sadness that flows through my fingers doesn't reverberate past hurts, instead it reflects the current. It echoes my remorse and my sorrow. Echoes Alan's hurt.

The horror on Scott's face. The remorse on Gordon's. The anger and fear on our father's. 'Memories' is building now, just as it does in the theatre. I had taken Alan to see Cats once when we were in New York and it was my turn to baby sit. I wanted to see it, and he got drug along with me because I was stuck with him. He irritated me to no end by complaining the entire time. The whole musical bored him to death. He commented that it was just people in cat suits, and there was no point to it. I didn't even try to explain. Now, I can't believe I didn't. I didn't even take that little bit of time. He was stuck going to something he had no interest in, and I didn't even try to make it the least bit palatable for him. I regret it so much now. Who knows if I'll ever have the chance again?

The music ensnares me, as always. Another poor choice of words. We're all ensnared in the web we've created by inadvertent, unmeant words which wound and hurt. All we have left now are the memories.

**B FLAT**

The Broadway gothic musical 'Jekyll & Hyde' seems so appropriate right now. The last weeks have been up and down, high and low. I'm playing 'I Need to Know' from that dark musical right now. And as the melody is created in a minor key under my fingers, the words echo through my mind. _'I need to know the nature of the demons that possess man's soul. I need to know why man's content to let them make him less than whole.'_ I feel less than whole right now. Like my dark side has taken over since my brothers and I uttered those words that I fear may have destroyed our younger sibling.

I've been in turns furious with Alan, then worried, then ready to strangle him, then terrified for him. Scott isn't much better. I can tell by looking at him. He's turning to John now. Because John doesn't really understand what we're afraid we've created. He wasn't there.

I think of Alan spending the night alone on the New York streets. What frightens me the most is what I see on my father's face. The fears he has. That my headstrong younger brother may have gotten in over his head. That taking on the Hood has made him think he could take on the elements of the New York streets. I don't even want to think of what Alan may have witnessed. Or what may have happened to him that night. Or who may have made him their target. Alan has lived a privileged life. We all have. We've seen horrible wrecks and disasters through International Rescue, but none of us have witnessed the true horror of what one human can do to another when there is nothing left. Alan is not prepared for what it would take to live among that element. I shudder what this may do to my brother.

'_I must find ways of adjusting the balance to bring him back from the empty black edge of night._' The melody weaves the words through my mind. _'I need to go where no man has ventured before, to search for the key to the door, that will end all this tragic and senseless decay. But how to go? I need to know!'_

I feel like Henry Jekyll as he sings those words. And I despair of Alan turning into Hyde before we can find him. I pray it's not too late. The minor melody resonating around me does not give me much hope.

As the song moves towards it's climax, I see movement at the doorway. Scott, my other half. Suddenly the music stops in a clash of keys. Scott is very white.

"What?" I say into the sudden silence, the dissonance dying away around me.

"Alan's been found."

Why isn't Scott smiling? _'I need to know . . .'_

**MAJOR CHORD PROGRESSION**

Amazing Grace. Quiet, powerful, lasting. Often played for funerals, but I've always preferred it as a prayer of thankfulness. That is why I play it now. Alan is home. He's stable. Such as that is. He's still very sick, and we've set up shifts to sit with him. John is with him now. Scott and Dad are supposed to be sleeping. They are both exhausted from the days they've spent with Alan at the hospital in New York. I'll relieve John later. But I've seen him. He is alive, and he is home. We can begin with that.

Gordon is listening as I play. His eyes are shut, strain showing on his face. Thinking he is asleep, I start to wind the song to a close.

"Don't stop." His quiet voice is a request.

I smile and bring the old hymn of thanksgiving back up to its soft volume. I sing a simple chorus along softly with the melody. "Praise God, praise God, praise God, praise God . . ." It sooths me. Grace. We have another chance. We've been granted grace. I see Gordon, quiet and reflective, and know he's thinking the same thing. He and Alan's bond is strong, even though there is over five years between them. I think maybe it's because for five years, he was the youngest. He understands Al's frustrations more than any of us. And as a Thunderbird pilot, he still is the youngest. He'll be grateful when Alan starts training. He won't be the youngest anymore. But more than anything I know he's just grateful for the chance to rebuild that relationship with his brother.

Suddenly Dad is here as well, sitting wearily down next to Gordon, draping his arm over Gordy's shoulders. I know he's thinking the same thing about Gordon and Alan that I am. Gordon doesn't even open his eyes, but leans in closer to Dad, looking much younger than his 20 years. Dad however, looks older than his years.

I can see Gordon gradually falling asleep. Dad smiles at me gratefully. I smile back, and the music continues. I wish he'd sleep too.

**PIANISSIMO**

I'm playing Pachelbel's Canon in D. It's the closest thing to perpetual motion in music that I know. It's soothing, and God know I need that right now. We all do. I've just finished sitting with Alan for a couple of hours. It's breaking my heart. The nightmares he has . . . The things he says. It's going to take him a long time to get over this. It will take the rest of us even longer. I'm exhausted, but I know I'm not even close to sleep.

Scott stops at the doorway. In the dark I can barely see him. His voice is soft, but the music is softer.

"Who's with Alan?"

"Dad."

"Dad! I thought he was going to bed? He should be – he hasn't slept more than a few hours since we got home. Why did you let him?" He's winding up. "You were supposed to be with Alan until morning!"

I look at Scott without offence and say wryly, "Do you really think I had much to say about it?"

Scott deflates immediately. "No." He flops onto the chair next to the piano. I forebear to mention that he is exhausted as well. The piece is continuing, soft and soothing. On-going. I can see it working it's magic on him too. We sit quietly as I play on, the music spinning off quietly into the deepening night. Scott should be sleeping too. But he feels as I do – there is no sleep for us this night.

**TRIUMPHANT IN C MAJOR**

The song spins powerfully off into the cool of the morning. Triumphant, strong, heady. The 'Lord of the Dance' is an old piece. A piece of pagan strength, as well as a piece of Christian rebirth. I embellish on it. Add richer chords, and an intricate counter melody. I am triumphant.

John told me Alan woke up last night. And Dad talked to him this morning, early. Scott finally made him go to bed. For the first time, Dad went willingly. That tells me more than anything else that everything is finally all right.

Scott wouldn't let anybody else sit with Alan now except for himself. I can see by the set of his jaw that it's his turn. That he'll build on what Dad and John have started. Neither Gordon nor I argue.

I'm content to wait my turn now. Everything will be alright. I add another line of complexity to the song. The song of renewal echoes out loud and strong, reinforcing that belief.

**RAGTIME**

I'm playing Scott Joplin's 'The Easy Winners' and laughing out loud. The ragtime beat trips off my fingers brightly. The notes float about me, dancing in the light from the window.

Gordon played an elaborate prank today on Scott. He's probably going to end up plastered on the side of a mountain somewhere, but I can't help but be happy. Life is back to normal.

I do have my suspicions however. I think it may have been going on longer than this morning, and that he may have had help. But I can't be sure. Gordy was sure interested in Alan's computer abilities, so I've wondered. But Alan is under John's thumb up on Thunderbird Five right now, and that's not a big place. He couldn't pull something like that off under John's eagle eye. And we've all been watching Al pretty close. It's been driving him crazy. That's just tough though. It's making the rest of us feel better.

I surge into 'The Entertainer', another Joplin piece, and smile. You know, Johnny was sure smug the last time I talked to him. And with John, well, you never know what he's up to. I shudder to think about John and Alan together. They would be a downright scary pair with their combined brain-power if they ever decided to collaborate on something. Gordon would have to watch his back. Scott and I as well.

I laugh out loud. It was good for Scott to have to deal with Gordon's pranks again. Once he's over his anger, he'll agree that it was pretty funny. He needed to let go a little. He's been pretty uptight with everything that's been happening.

Dad pokes his head in with a smile. "Everything ok?"

"Life's grand, Dad!"

He laughs, and leaves me to the music.


End file.
